


Unspoken

by sarahgene12



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Snow, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahgene12/pseuds/sarahgene12
Summary: Alfie Boe's Valjean and Will Swenson's Javert. Valjean and Javert have banded together to search out an escaped criminal, and Valjean is short. Javert comes to the logical conclusion that they must hold hands so he doesn't lose Valjean in the crowd.





	

“Here, take my hand.”  
Madeleine was absolutely sure it was someone else in the crowd who had said this. The square was packed with people, and it was entirely possible he’d overheard someone else’s conversation.   
“Monsieur? Please.”   
But it was his chief Inspector, standing with little care for the teeming crowds around and about them.   
Javert looked like a lighthouse, rigid and unyielding and towering nearly a full foot above everyone. His hand was outstretched towards the mayor.   
Feeling his cheeks flush a bright pink, Madeleine shook his head, trying his best to appear casual. “Now Javert, is that really necessary? I’m a grown man.”  
Now the inspector looked uncomfortable, grimacing as a gust of snow-choked wind brushed gnarled fingers through his hair.   
He’d untied the ribbon he used to keep it tidy when they’d left the last house, and Madeleine thought it made him look less severe. Certainly younger, though it was stone grey.   
“I am aware of that, Monsieur le mayor, but it is for your safety. No one is paying any attention to where they are going, and I cannot keep track of you if I cannot see you!”  
The moment the words had passed Javert’s lips, his narrow face went the color of soured milk, and one gloved hand touched his cheek with horror.   
Madeleine grinned, feeling his face grow hotter still. “Would it be more convenient for you perhaps if I sat upon your shoulders, inspector? That way I could direct you.”  
Javert squeezed his eyes shut tight, his expression pained. When he opened them again, he looked as if he might cry.   
Through gritted teeth, he implored the mayor again, holding his hand out for the taking.   
Madeleine felt his heart leap into his throat, suddenly lost for clever quips. “Are you quite sure, Inspector? P-people might talk.”  
Javert stared at him. “People do little else. Now, please, take my hand. We’ve lost valuable time already.”  
Oh bless him, he didn’t know! If only this staunch and pious man could see that to hold his hand, just to feel those long, clever fingers surprisingly warm between each of his own, was heaven!  
He scarcely admitted it even to himself, but it was true; the afternoon felt less winter worn with the inspector’s hand clasping so tightly at his before now unfeeling palms. Warmth was restored in all his extremities, and all the Christmas lights, modest though they were, beamed brighter.   
For however long they walked, the policeman was unyielding. He served quite well as a windscreen, with the shorter man huddled closer and closer behind him as they made their way.   
Nearly an hour after they’d left the crowded square, Javert became aware of their forearms, pressed together in their thick woolen coats almost inseparably.  
He looked down at the mayor, whose face shone ruddy-red in the dying day’s light.   
“Are you quite warm enough, monsieur?”  
The mayor started, startled out of some revelry which had coaxed a funny sort of smile out of the corner of his mouth.   
“Ah, well, y-yes, yes I am. Thank you, Inspector.” Then a real smile graced the mayor’s face, and Javert couldn’t help but realize how radiant the man became.   
He seemed to smile so rarely, nearly as infrequently as Javert himself, and it really was a shame. It changed the entire map of his features, warming them, and nearly compelled the inspector to smile back. Nearly.  
Instead, the towering pillar of the law faced forward once again, squinting in the blowing snow. He felt a small electric shock touch his skin through the wool of his coat, every time Madeleine’s shoulder brushed him just above his elbow.


End file.
